Heard It In a Love Song
by LynstHolin
Summary: DRAMIONE While she and Ron are having a rough spot in their marriage, Hermione encounters a very flirtatious Draco Malfoy through her work with the Ministry. Sexy bits!
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Just some suggestiveness in this chapter; things will heat up later.

...

"Ron, why can't you be happy for me? You know how hard I worked for this promotion." Hermione stood in the kitchen with her arms folded, voice soft but furious.

"How can we start a family with you working fifty hours a week?"

"So we wait little longer. What's the big rush?"

Ron's face was red. "That's not what we decided on before we got married. We were supposed to have at least one baby by now."

"I didn't realize then that my career would take off like it did, Ron."

"I want you to quit." Ron stabbed his fork hard into his bacon.

Hermione's eyes went huge. "_What_?"

"Stay home and have lots of babies."

"I-I-I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I would go mad from lack of intellectual stimulation. My mind just needs more of a challenge than changing nappies and wiping up drool."

Ron glared at her, eyes gone small with anger. "Are you calling my mother stupid?"

Hermione threw her hands up. "Where on Earth did that come from?"

"From you. Oooh, I'm much too smart to take care of baaay-beeees," he said in a mocking sing-song.

Hermione gaped at her husband. They'd been fighting a lot lately, but this was just getting pointlessly nasty. Ron reached out a freckled hand and snagged a piece of bacon off her plate. "For heaven's sake, Ron, haven't you eaten enough yet?"

"You calling me fat?" he challenged.

Bloody hell. Yes, he'd gotten fat, but it wasn't his body itself that was the problem; it was the way he _felt_ about his body. He would no longer go out dancing with her. He wouldn't go to a beach or a pool. He wouldn't hike. The only leisure activities they shared any more was listening to the wireless and attending his sister's Quidditch matches. She wasn't sure how he expected her to get pregnant, since his aversion to being seen naked had pretty much killed their sex life. "You're not the man I married."

"And you're not the woman I married, so I guess we're even, then."

"Perhaps we need some time apart." Hermione seemed to be hearing herself from a distance. She wasn't even sure how the words had come out of her mouth.

That was when it got ugly.

...

Even though she'd been staying at Number 12 Grimmauld Place for over a week, there was still a moment of confusion after her alarm clock went off. She blinked until the flocked wallpaper came into focus, and she remembered where she was.

The old Black place had been inhabited only by Kreecher for the last couple of years, since Ginny wanted her and Harry's children to grow up the way she and her brothers had. The Potters had a place not far from the Burrow now. Ginny had taken her brother's side in his and Hermione's dispute, naturally, so she wasn't pleased that Harry had let Hermione move in, but 12 Grimmauld Place was Harry's, to do with as he wished.

Down in the kitchen, Hermione found Kreecher cooking and grumbling, wearing the necktie Harry had given him a few years back. "Harry Potter left Kreecher all alone," he moaned to himself.

"You could have gone with him, you know," Hermione pointed out, for perhaps the twentieth time.

"This is Kreecher's home," he whined.

Hermione shrugged. House elves tended to be peculiar, and Kreecher was more so than most. Before sitting down to her breakfast, she turned the radio on. Kreecher had done something to it, and the only station it would pick up now was that high-pitched American music played by men who dressed like cowboys. Hermione didn't like country-western, but she played it for background noise. It made the house feel less lonely.

"Coming up next, we have 'T-R-O-U-B-L-E' by Travis Tritt," the DJ announced in an ersatz Texas twang that failed to disguise his Yorkshire accent.

With breakfast done, she donned her Ministry uniform and walked into the fireplace with some Floo powder. She came out in a small tavern, the Broken Wand. The bosomy woman behind the counter took one look at her uniform and smiled knowingly. "Here to keep and eye on those Malfoys, eh? I wouldn't mind that job myself. And maybe not just my eyes." The woman cackled.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss Ministry business," Hermione said stiffly. The barmaid was right, of course. The Ministry regularly sent out representatives to do cursory searches of the homes of prominent Death Eaters, just to remind them that they were still being watched. The Ministry didn't want any of them to think they could make a bid to become the next Voldmort.

It was considered poor etiquette to Floo into someone's home for such a visit, so Hermione had instead come out of a public building near Malfoy Manor. She knew the way from there; she'd been to the Manor before when she'd worked in the Department of House Elf Welfare. It was a bit of a hike, and she'd worn practical shoes. Dealing with Lucius Malfoy always left her feeling vulnerable, so she wore her uniform coat buttoned from neck to hem.

When she reached the Manor gate, it twisted itself into a face. "What do you want?" it demanded.

"I'm from the Ministry, as you well know. Let me through, or I'll get a order in place to have you melted down by the Magical Objects Disposal Squad." As Hermione fumed impatiently, the gate slowly, slowly opened, making a lot of unnecessary creaks and groans. Hermione really disliked objects with attitude problems. The Manor grounds and the Manor itself were still spectaular, and white peacocks still roamed. One stopped right in front of Hermione and spread its tail feathers. "Yes, yes, you're quite magnificent," Hermione said as she stepped around it.

"Can I help you? Oh, hello, Miss Granger."

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione corrected automatically. An elegant young woman sat on the edge of a fountain, holding a book of poetry. Her sleek chignon, high-heeled shoes and pink Chanel suit made Hermione all too aware of her wind-frizzed hair and boxy uniform. Hermione recognized her as the former Astoria Greengrass. "You must be here to visit your in-laws."

"Draco and I have moved in, actually. If you're here on Ministry business, you'd best talk to Draco. Lucius and Narcissa are visiting friends." A wand came out of a pocket hidden in Astoria's above-the-knee skirt, and she produced a patronus in the form of a swan.

Shortly after, Draco appeared from behind a hedge, leading two massive, shaggy dogs on leashes. He gave Hermione a puzzled look. "Have there been complaints from the house elves?"

"Oh, no, I'm not in Elf-Welf any more."

Draco's eyes took in the insignia on Hermione's coat. "Ah. You're just here to make sure we aren't creating Horcruxes in our wine cellar."

"Something like that. I've got to take a tour of the Manor."

"Let's put these monsters away first."

Hermione fell into step beside him. "The first time I came here on an Elf-Welf visit, they tried to eat me." It felt a bit strange, making small talk with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but it was far better than having to endure Lucius' stoney silences.

"Father was probably hoping they would. He'll never forgive you for freeing the elves." He opened a kennel. As he took the dogs' leashes off, Hermione looked him over. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been tall, but about as substantial as a piece of spaghetti. He'd gotten wide in the shoulders and deep in the chest. His vee-necked pull-over outlined his biceps and pecs, and his gun-metal gray slacks molded to his haunches as he bent over. Then her eyes reached his feet.

"Hideous, aren't they?" He was looking at her with a smile on his face.

Hermione flushed a little at being caught ogling. "They don't really go with the outfit."

Draco lifted one foot and wiggled it so she could have a better view of the safety-orange rubber clog. "Now that the elves are liberated, they take their time cleaning the poo out of the part of the garden where we let the dogs run. They also take their time cleaning my shoes. At least I can rinse these off easily."

"What a hard life you Malfoys lead."

Draco laughed. It wasn't the malicious boy's laugh she'd heard so much in her Hogwarts days, but the full-bodied laughter of a man. "Come, let me show you my dungeon where I perform all my dark deeds." His gray eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned at her.

Hermione was beginning to understand what the barmaid at the Broken Wand had been talking about. Draco was a natural flirt. She found herself irrationally annoyed by the fact that he was obviously aware of how handsome he was. Really, one couldn't expect someone that good-looking to not know he was attractive.

The front door of the Manor swung open to admit them. "Why don't you take off your coat? You look a bit hot," he said. She felt his gaze on her while she unbuttoned her coat and hung it on a rack, and she sucked in her stomach. "Well, then, where do we start?"

"The cell beneath the drawing room." When they entered the drawing room, Draco was looking at her again, but not flirtatiously. "What?"

"Just... not good memories in this room."

"Oh, you mean being tortured by your insane aunt? Good times. Don't worry about it. I thought I was going to faint the first time I came here on Elf-Welf, but I'm over it now. All right, is this unlocked?" She pushed at the door to the once-secret room and it opened. "So did your parents ever know that the reason the Ministry found out about this room was that you blathered about it?"

"I should have known they weren't really Crabbe and Goyle immediately. They were actually speaking words of more than one syllable. At least, Potter was. Weasley was never the brightest." Hermione made a noise. "Oh, sorry. You married him, didn't you?"

Hermione lit the tip of her wand with a _Lumos_ as she went down the stairs. "Indeed, I did."

"You two seem like an odd pair."

Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs. "Your concern is noted," she said tartly. She could feel how close behind her Draco was.

"I mean, you were almost the cleverest girl in school, and Weasley-eh. What do you two talk about together, anyway? I imagine you telling him about something you read in Advanced Magic Monthly, and him grunting, 'Fire hot.' "

"You're still quite annoying, Malfoy." She inspected all the nooks and crannies of the cell. It actually gave her a far worse case of the creeps than the drawing room did, knowing that poor Luna and Mr. Ollivander had been kept down here for months. There was no sign of those times now. It was just a dusty, cobwebbed space with some barrels and crates in the corners. "Let's go back up." Her wand was at just the right height to illuminate Draco's backside as he walked up the stairs in front of her, and she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

"Oh, there you are. I'm off to book club," said Astoria as she headed toward the drawing room fireplace. Draco intercepted her and tried to kiss her on the lips, but she turned so he got her cheek. "Watch the lipstick, dear. I'll be back in time for supper."

"Looks like it's just you and annoying me. I suppose you want to see the upstairs," Draco said, and he led her to the grandly curving granite staircase. This time, she was all too aware of Draco following at the perfect distance to check out _her _backside. Something about his presence made her unable to ignore her physical being; she could feel every movement of her hips, the way her skirt swayed and brushed her legs with each step. It wasn't that hard to figure out, really. She hadn't had sex in months. Not even with herself, since she found the presence of another anywhere in the house, whether human or elf, too inhibiting. Put her in close proximity with a physically attractive man, even if that man was _Draco Malfoy_, and of course her body was going to respond. It had nothing to do with him in particular.

They went down a hall lined with sculptures and painted landscapes (with trees that waved their branches and rivers that rippled) to the bedrooms. Narcissa's was in a corner of the Manor, and it had lots of windows. Lucius' was shrouded with dark purple hangings; Hermione felt rather uncomfortable being in it. Astoria's had newly-installed tasteful beige moiré panels on the walls.

She'd been in Draco's bedroom before on an Elf-Welf visit, and at that time it had an air of disuse about it. It also had been the room of an adolescent boy, with posters of sexy witches in low-cut robes, Chocolate Frog cards strewn on the dresser, and a Slytherin bedspread. It had been totally redecorated in browns. "Is that _leather_ on the walls?" Hermione asked.

"Astoria's idea. She was raised to only want to the most expensive things."

"And I suppose you prefer pound shops."

Draco looked lost. "What's a pound shop?"

"My point exactly." Her gaze was drawn to the unmade bed, a pair of blue silk pajama bottoms tossed on it.

"The house elves aren't too prompt about making beds any more either," Draco said.

Hermione stared at the bed as she got a vivid mental image of Draco sleeping in a tangle of covers, wearing nothing but those pajama bottoms. Then she saw him awake and slipping the pajamas off, and herself next to him, and under him and... She darted her eyes over at Draco, and her cheeks burned at the knowing expression on his face. "We should move on." She crossed her arms over her chest to hide the two little tell-tale signs her body was displaying.

The corners of his mouth lifted in an infuriatingly smug way. "Do we have to?"

Pretending not to know what he was implying, she walked toward the door. "I have to go see the Notts today, too. I can't dawdle.

"Too bad," Draco said in a soft, caressing tone. Hermione acted as if she hadn't heard, but her underwear was starting to feel too tight.

The rest of the inspection was fast, but not fast enough. "There. That's all. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy." Even though she didn't offer it, Draco took her hand and shook it, then didn't let go. "Ahem."

"Oh, sorry," he said insincerely. He ran a thumb across her palm before he released her.

Hermione nearly ran from the Manor. She slammed her way into the Broken Wand and sat at the bar. "Firewhiskey, please."

The barmaid looked amused. "The younger one got to you, didn't he. He has a way. Got it from his father."

Hermione gave the blowsy woman a disbelieving look. "_Lucius_?"

"Ah, I suppose he'd be too old for you. I've had my fun with him, though."

Hermione's eyes watered from snorting firewhiskey up her nose.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: some strong language, brief sexiness

...

Hermione was finishing up a light supper of salad and chardonnay while listening to the radio and Kreecher's half-senile ramblings. She was getting worried about the elderly house elf. He'd called her Walburga the night before.

"Next up on our Saturday Night Rodeo Round-Up is Dolly Parton singing 'Why'd You Come in Here Looking Like That' ," announced the deejay. Hermione turned the radio off and went upstairs to change.

Tickets to the Daily Prophet's annual Spring Ball were coveted by everyone in the wizarding world. Ron had gotten two tickets because of his sister's fame as a Holyhead Harpy. He'd planned on taking Hermione before they separated, and they were still going together. Hermione was hoping that this night would be a new beginning in their relationship.

Originally, she'd planned on dressing Muggle-style, but Ron preferred witches to dress traditionally. She'd gone to a new shop in Diagon Alley called Proud and Preen's Formal Wear, and had found a set of robes there in a shade of bronze that made the color of her hair and eyes look richer. They also outlined the curve of her slim waist. Hermione smoothed her hair with Gilderoy Lockheart's Frizz-Buster Potion (she hated giving that now-recovered phoney her money, but his hair care products were the best around) and lined her eyes in that purplish-brown called raisin. Some mascara, some lipstick, some cologne, a diamond necklace, and her wedding ring. _I look as good as I ever have_, she thought as she gazed in the mirror. Perhaps Ron would once again find her irresistible.

Hermione ripped open the envelope that held her ticket. As soon as she touched it, the cardboard port-key whisked her away. She landed in a meadow, close to a white and yellow striped pavilion the size of a Quidditch pitch. Under the pavilion, a small orchestra played. Other witches and wizards ported into the meadow. When Hermione saw Ron she walked to him as fast as she could in her heels, hope lifting her up like she was filling with helium.

Ron gazed at her a moment, and she smiled. "Do you like?" she asked, twirling the skirts of her robes a little, emphasizing the iridescence of the fabric.

"How much did those cost?" Ron asked, "They look awfully expensive."

Hermione's smile slipped. "You look-nice." It was a lie. He was wearing what looked like maternity robes, trying to hide his belly.

"Let's get to the party before all the good hors d'oeuvres are gone," Ron said.

_Not even one little kiss_? Hermione huffed a little as she followed her husband to the pavilion. When he grabbed some deviled dragon egg, Hermione took a glass of champagne. The way the evening was starting, she was going to need alcohol.

"So, how about those Cannons, eh? They almost won a match yesterday. I could barely believe my eyes." Bloody hell. Bloody Seamus and his bloody Quidditch talk.

"They'll do it yet this year, just you wait and see," Ron said, smiling for the first time since arriving at the ball. Several of his office mates from work joined in the conversation; it was the same old argument about the Chudley Cannons that they seemed to have at every social event.

The orchestra played the opening bars to a lushly romantic song Hermione knew well, a tune from the Forties called 'The Wizard Wedding Song'. It was what had been playing for Hermione and Ron's first dance at their wedding reception. "Ron, let's dance!" Hermione said excitedly.

Ron gave her a look. "I'm talking, Hermione."

Hermione took another glass of bubbly.

"You can't expect to tear your husband away from a Quidditch argument," said a woman that Hermione recognized as the wife of one of Ron's co-workers. She was with several other vaguely familiar faces. Hermione edged into their group. They were talking about everything baby-related. Tricks for getting pregnant, toilet training tips, dealing with over-indulgent grandparents... Hermione couldn't suppress a yawn. "You must be working on starting a family, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, not right now," Hermione answered, "I'm at a critical point in my career." The other women very subtly turned their backs on her, and Hermione was left standing alone. Feeling awkwardly conspicuous, she took more champagne and drifted to the edge of the pavilion, where the fairy-lights weren't so bright. Half-hiding behind a pole, she watched Ron laugh and gesture animatedly, trying to remember the last time he'd been so involved in talking to her.

"He doesn't even know you're gone. He must be blind as well as stupid, leaving you all alone when you look like that." Draco Malfoy. He looked... spectacular. His midnight blue robes emphasized his build perfectly, and he was grinning down at her sexily, his eyes roaming all over her. It was irritating how much he looked the hero on a cover of a witch's romance novel. Not that Hermione ever read those. Not often, anyway.

"You're still quite rude as well as being annoying." Hermione finished her drink.

"I can tell you want to dance." Malfoy took the empty champagne flute from her hand, set it on a table, and spread his arms invitingly.

"I don't think so."

"It's very impolite to turn down a dance at a ball."

He had her there. Wizards had their own standards of etiquette for formal occasions, and it was a strict rule that a woman was not to turn down an invitation to dance. "All right, then." She stepped into his embrace, heart speeding up when one of his hands settled on her hip. His shoulder felt muscular under her own hand. A waltz was playing, and he expertly whirled her across the dance floor. There were no missed steps, no foot-treadings with Malfoy.

"Your cheeks are flushed. Did you know that the waltz was considered to be quite scandalous when it first appeared? Two bodies so close together, moving together as one. Most improper. Too much like making love." He pulled her a bit closer than was necessary.

"The song is over. Etiquette says that a married witch may not share more than one dance with a wizard who is not her husband."

"I hear you two are separated."

"We're still working on it."

As he released her, Malfoy trailed his fingers lightly up her side. "A shame. I'm having quite a good time," he breathed into her ear.

Oh, Merlin. Her body caught fire. "What are you playing at?" she snapped.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Hermione reflexively looked over at her husband. He was still talking to his buddies, oblivious to the fact that his wife was being seduced. A tray floated by, laden with glasses of champagne, and she took another, draining it quickly. "Where's your wife?"

"Over there in the far corner with her book club friends. She's not interested in dancing. Her heels are too high." Hermione saw Astoria, clad in a scrap of sheer emerald silk that bared long legs with no dimples or jiggly bits. Her turquoise peep-toe shoes were indeed very, very high. Hermione couldn't imagine how one could even walk in them.

Malfoy took her by the wrist and pulled her out into the darkness beyond the pavilion. Hermione let out a startled yawp. The feel of his mouth closing over hers drove all thought from her head. Her hands moved to his back, pulling him closer. His tongue touched hers, and she let out a tiny whimper. Heat pooled in her lower belly. He pushed his hips against her, and she could feel that he was getting hard.

"What is going on here?" It was Pansy Parkinson, of all people, laughing at their startled looks. She had her wand out with the tip lit.

Malfoy muttered something and stalked away.

"Stop looking at me that way, Granger, I'm not going to hex you. I'm so over Draco." Parkinson grinned and tossed an empty glass into the dark. "Actually, I'm glad he's cheating on that two-faced bitch Astoria. It makes me sick, the way she acts like she's so perfect. She pretended to be my friend while she was fucking my boyfriend."

"Huh. I kind of wondered what happened with you and Malfoy. I thought for sure you'd marry him. You were so..."

"Addicted. Yeah. Just a word of warning." Parkinson leaned toward Hermione, lowering her voice. Hermione could smell whiskey on her breath. "Don't get too hung up on him. He's a whore. He can't help himself, really. I mean, what can you expect when his father is one of the worst tomcats of the wizarding world? He broke my goddamn heart so bad." Parkinson swayed on her heels a bit, her eyes bleary from drink. "But I got even. I slept with Lucius."

This surprised a squeak of laughter from Hermione. "Am I the only witch that hasn't slept with Lucius Malfoy?"

"Quite possibly." Parkinson's attention was caught by someone in the pavilion. "Blaise, you've got to dance with me!"

Hermione was left alone in the dark. She watched her husband as he ate another cracker covered in caviar. She watched Malfoy as he tried to get his wife's attention. Hermione stared until the fairy lights dazzled her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

This is where it starts to heat up.

...

"_Heaven's just a sin away, whoa-a-whoa-a, just a siiiin awaaay_..."

"I've got to get that radio fixed," Hermione commented to Kreacher.

"Whatever Mistress Walburga wishes," the house elf replied in his bullfrog voice. He was attempting to polish silverware with Hermione's loofah. Hermione patted him on the head, and he looked like he was going to explode with elven bliss. Poor old addled thing.

When she got to the Ministry, Shacklebolt was waiting outside her cubicle. "We've got a potions analyst for you, finally."

"Oh, good. Yesterday, I found something at the Nott's that has me a bit concerned."

"He's already on it." Shacklebolt led her to the Suspect Potions lab. As the door opened, Hermione got a sinking feeling. That tall figure, the broad shoulders, the blond hair... "Malfoy?"

He turned, grinning as he pulled off his goggles. "Hey, boss."

"He's just finished his studies with Madam Venefirous in Switzerland," Shacklebolt said. "She's the greatest living expert on potions, and Malfoy apprenticed with her for five years. There can't be very many kinds of potions that he can't detect. Well, I've got to go. A meeting." Shacklebolt left Hermione and Draco alone in the lab, closing the door behind him.

"I look forward to working under you," Draco said in a bedroom kind of voice.

Hermione flushed. "Ah, so what have you found out about the Nott potion?"

"It's perfectly harmless. I'm not surprised you didn't know what it was. There's not much call for a cure for troll pox."

"Can humans even catch that?"

"Sure, if they have a lot of close, personal contact with trolls."

Hermione made a face. "I don't think I want to know. Ew."

Draco laughed. "Well, where do you think Marcus Flint came from? Human-troll hybridization."

Groaning, Hermione put her hands over her ears. "Please stop."

"There's nothing like a sexy girl troll. The lumpy green skin, the boat-sized feet, the snaggle teeth-what man could possibly resist?"

Hermione giggled in spite of herself. "Dammit, Malfoy, why are you turning up everywhere I go?"

"It must be fate."

"You know, I don't think I'll ever be able to look Theo Nott in the eye again. No wonder he was so upset when I found that potion. If this gets out, I can't imagine that other Purebloods will take it well. Why would anyone want to cross humans with trolls?"

"The Ministry had best keep an eye on Nott. Half-trolls make excellent soldiers. Though maybe he's just doing it for the hybrid vigor. The Nott line is a bit inferior physically. It's a problem a lot of Purebloods have. I don't think Theo can lift anything heavier than a wine goblet. Without the wine."

"You Malfoys don't seem to have that problem." Hermione mentally kicked herself the second the words left her lips.

"We're alpha males, we Malfoys." Draco playfully puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. "That's why women find us irresistible."

"I wouldn't go that far," Hermione said dryly.

"Oh?" Draco had her up against the wall so fast, she had no idea how she'd gotten there. He pushed a thigh between hers and ran his thumb across her mouth.

"Th-this isn't appropriate." Hermione felt her traitorous body react.

"I can ell you like it." He nibbled her earlobe and her neck as he lightly ran his palm across her hardened nipples.

"Wh-why are you doing this?" Hermione asked plaintively.

"Have you seen yourself?" he breathed into her ear as he put his hand under her blouse.

"I'm just a Mudblood to you!" Hermione tried to make herself angry to break the spell he was weaving with his body... his hands in particular.

"You're going to hold something I said when I was twelve against me?" Draco grinned down at her. "Twelve year olds are barely human, you know. Their brains are nowhere near done developing, and they're addled by their rampant hormones."

"I think your hormones are still a bit rampant. And, honestly, I'm nothing compared to your wife." She could feel his erection, and she had to make a real effort not to grind herself against it.

"What's Astoria got to do with anything?"

"She's your _wife_. And she... she's so beautiful and perfect."

"So's a painting in a museum."

Hermione wanted to ask what that meant, but his hand was under her skirt, skimming up the inside of her thigh. He reached her underwear and worked his fingers beneath, making her suck in her breath when he touched her most intimate place.

"You're wet," he whispered into her ear as he opened her up, running his thumb just inside her nether lips. He brushed across the sensitive little nubbin where her desire was centered, and she gasped. "Right there." Draco stared into her eyes as he circled around her clit, and then rubbed it gently as Hermione sagged against him. "Come for me, beautiful, come for me," he urged, and she did, moaning as her climax rolled through her. His hand worked until the last tremors were done, and then he brought it up to his mouth, sucking her juices off of his hand while he stared into her eyes, the gray of his own storm-dark.

...

_What are you doing, Hermione? What are you doing?_ Hermione stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't really cheat. Not really. It was just his hand. And it would never happen again, of course. Of course.

Someone pounded on the door of the womens' bathroom. "Hurry up! Break time is nearly over."

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned forward. The mirror felt pleasantly cool against her forehead. The way he'd watched her so avidly, not making any attempt to satisfy himself as he satisfied her... Hermione tried not to compare him to Ron, she really did try. But there was no comparison. Ron had never made her shake like that. _With just his hand_.

"I need to get in there!"

"Use the toilet down the hall!" Hermione snapped. Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad.

...

Shacklebolt frowned at Hermione. "What has Malfoy done that was amiss?"

Hermione sat with her knees together, hands folded primly in her lap. "Nothing, really. It's just that... we have a past. We didn't get along in school."

"I'm sorry, Granger. He is the most qualified person we have for the job, and if you don't have anything more than that, well, sorry. I'm not transferring him."

...

Hermione had her hair scraped back from her face and twisted into a severe bun. Her turtleneck was unseasonably warm, and, along with the trousers that she was wearing, it made her a bit sweaty. "This was found at the Bloodgood residence." She held up a bottle of thick green liquid that had yellow lumps in it.

"Ugh. It looks like dragon snot." Draco took the bottle from her and uncorked it. He waved a hand over the neck, wafting the odor of the liquid toward his face, and sniffed. "Smells like it, too."

Hermione had vowed not to react to Draco in any way other than a strictly professional manner, but he had such a wry way of saying things that she couldn't help but laugh. "You've had a lot of experience with dragon snot?"

"Albus Dumbledore discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood. I intend to find the twelve uses of dragon snot. By the way, you're going to roast in that armor you're wearing."

Hermione looked up at the ceiling. "What happened yesterday... It can't happen again. I'm a married woman, and you're a married man, and your're my underling, and anyone could have walked in on us, and it's just _all wrong_."

Draco set the bottle down on the counter. "I saw the look on your face, the way your eyes closed and your mouth opened, and I heard the sound you made. It didn't _feel_ wrong to you when it happened."

Draco watching her face while she orgasmed had been more intimate than if he'd seen her naked. The memory of it sent heat pooling into her lower belly. "If we're going to work together, this has to stop. If I have to, I'll tell Shacklebolt what happened, and then he'll have to transfer you." It was a bluff, of course. Hermione could never bring herself to tell _anyone_ what had happened, much less a superior that she had so much esteem for.

Draco stared at her for a long moment. "You play rough."

"I'm not playing."

"Have it your way, then." Draco put his goggles on. He picked up the bottle again and tipped it over a cauldron. The liquid glopped out unappetizingly. He lit a Bunsen burner and set the cauldron over it, stirring with a glass rod. An indescribable stench filled the lab. Hermione unsuccessfully tried to suppress a gag. Draco smirked at her. "Lightweight. This is nothing. You ought to smell the cure for Albanian Arachnosis."

"I think I'll pass. Wait, what's Albanian Arachnosis?"

"Spiders come out of your nose."

"Ew!" Hermione reflexively covered her nose. She watched Draco raise the glass rod to his mouth and... _lick it_. "_Merlin and Morgan_! What are you doing?"

"Sometimes, you have to use all your senses. Hmm. This is nothing to be concerned with. It's just a poorly done house elf tonic. You ought to set Elf-Welf on Bloodgood for this. It even _tastes_ like dragon snot."

Hermione Vanished the rest of the tonic. "I'm not going to ask."


	4. Chapter 4

There's even more sex in this chapter.

...

_This will be the night_, Hermione told herself. Tonight, she and Ron would finally mend their marriage. Ron had invited her over for dinner, and Hermione intended to stay, only coming back to Grimmauld Place to gather her things. To ensure a successful outcome, she put on a dress that she knew Ron loved. It had been quite a long time since she'd worn it last. It was scarlet and halter-necked, with a plunging neckline and a skirt that hugged her hips, the hemline swirling just above her knees. She felt a bit tarty in it, but whenever she wore it, Ron couldn't keep his hands off of her. Underneath, she wore only a tiny, lacy white thong that she'd just bought from Agent Provocateur. And there was another surprise, under the thong.

Hermione slipped on silver, high-heeled sandals that showed off her fresh pedicure. She spritzed on Guerlain's Vanille Spirituese perfume, because she'd read that research showed that men found the scent of vanilla to be sexually alluring. It had taken a very long time to make her hair straight and silky, but it would, she hoped, tempt Ron to run his fingers through it.

Surveying herself in the mirror, Hermione thought, _I have never been more irresistible_. She tip-tapped down the stairs to the kitchen. She paused a moment to watch Kreacher, who was doing a waltz on the counter to the radio. The house elf groaned in disappointment when the song ended. "That was 'It's All Wrong But It's All Right' by Dolly Parton," the DJ announced.

"Good night, Kreacher," Hermione called as she headed for the fireplace. She felt a little guilty about planning to leave him all alone again.

When she emerged, she saw Ginny, of all people, lighting the candles on the dining room table. "Oh! I was supposed to be gone already. I was just setting this up for Ron. If it was up to him, you'd just be gnawing on chicken legs on the couch." The table looked nice, with a white table cloth and Hermione's wedding china. Ginny turned the radio to a smooth jazz station. "I'll be leaving you two alone now."

Hermione had already seated herself by the time Ron came out of the kitchen with a platter. It was a variety of fancy cheeses and crackers and bite-sized fruit. A light supper-conducive to love-making. Hermione smiled, hope swelling inside her. "Ginny said this would be best," Ron said. He poured some Pinot Grigio into their glasses, only spilling a little, and sat across from her. "Rumor has it you work with Malfoy now. What's _that _like?"

Hermione worked at keeping her face neutral. It had been three weeks since _it _had happened, and they'd kept it strictly professional since then, but she still felt a bit guilty about it. "Oh, it's not so bad."

"Really?" Ron's voice was dripping with disbelief.

"People change, Ron. I mean, he can be annoying, but he's not nearly as bad as he was in school. He's quite cordial with me. He's very good at what he does, too. His work has already put two dark wizards away."

"You starting to fancy him?" Ron chortled. Hermione choked on a cracker. "His wife is awful stiff competition. You've seen her."

"Looks aren't everything," Hermione snapped.

"Whoa! You jealous or something?" Ron seemed to find the idea very humorous.

"Hardly." Hermione took a deep swig of wine.

Ron talked about working at his brother's shop for a while. As usual, George was coming up with all sorts of new novelties, like underpants that screamed when they needed to be changed. Soon dinner was finished, and the second bottle of wine was empty. Hermione was feeling pleasantly tiddly. Ron frowned at the empty platter. "I'm going to get more food." He started to stand up, but his bulk made him too slow. Hermione quickly rounded the table, shoving him back down into his chair. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Hermione purred. She straddled him, thrusting her bosom into his face.

"I'm still hungry."

Hermione writhed around, trying to imitate the lap-dance that she'd seen in a terrible movie about Las Vegas showgirls. "If you eat more, you'll just fall asleep right afterward dinner. I have _plans_."

"Later, 'Mione."

"Now." She lowered her head and tried to stick her tongue in Ron's mouth, only to find herself on the floor. "What the hell, Ron?" Hermione didn't usually swear, but landing hard on her bottom in an undignified position startled it out of her.

"I said, not now!" Ron's face was an alarming shade of purple.

"You want to have babies, but how can we have babies if you won't have sex with me?" Hermione shouted.

"Stop acting like a-a scarlet woman! A man doesn't like it when a woman starts it. It's... unmascalating."

"The word you're looking for is 'emasculating'," Hermione snapped as she got up off the floor.

"Oh, thank you very much, Hermione Know-It-All. You always think you're so much smarter than me, don't you?" Ron got up and stalked to the kitchen. In tears, Hermione headed for the fireplace.

She emerged in the MInistry. There was no way she was going to sleep tonight, and perhaps concentrating on work would stop her crying. She headed for the lab to see how much headway Malfoy had made on the latest case. Hermione had carried a crate full of mysterious potions out of the crumbling Gayheart manor that morning while Theodosius and Gertie Gayheart had hurled obscenities at her. The Gayhearts were another example of Pureblood inbreeding gone too far.

Malfoy turned and looked at her in surprise when she opened the door. He was working in his shirt-sleeves, his tie loosened. He covered what he was working on and pulled off his goggles. "Are you all right, Granger?" Merlin, he actually sounded like he was concerned. It was too much. Hermione shifted from silent weeping to open sobbing. She put her head down in her hands. "What did your idiot husband do now?"

"Shut up. And how do you know I'm crying over Ron?"

"Because I'm not an idiot. And that looks like a seduce-your-husband outfit to me."

"Malfoy, is it true that men don't like it when a woman tries to initiate sex?"

An odd sound made Hermione look up. There was a very intense look in Malfoy's eyes. "Try me," he said in a voice that seemed to touch her intimate places.

A shock zipped through Hermione. It felt like she was split in two. Observer Hermione thought _This isn't a good idea_ while the other Hermione reached back and undid the tie of her dress, letting the top part drop down. Malfoy sucked in his breath. He walked to her and laid his hands, and then his mouth, on the flesh she'd bared. His fingers and tongue gently stroking her nipples made heat pool in her lower belly. He reached back and undid her zip, and the dress fell to the floor. She couldn't help giggling when he pulled the thong down with his teeth, going down on his knees.

"Granger, what happened to your-"

"I waxed. It was supposed to be a surprise for-"

"For the idiot. Yes." Malfoy reached out a hand and explored. His touch on her newly-hairless mound made her shiver in a good way. He lightly ran a finger along her slit. "What does this waxing entail?"

"Malted wax is poured on. When it's set, it's pulled off, and all the hair comes with it."

Malfoy's hand stilled as he gave her a startled look. "Bloody hell! Didn't that hurt?"

Hermione giggled. "Quite a lot."

"I think I'll have to kiss it all better." Still on his knees, he pushed her against the wall, put one of her legs over his shoulder and did just that. Hermione moaned. He drew back again, parting her lips with his fingers. Ron had never done what Malfoy was doing; he'd never just stared at her there with that look of lust and awe. It was embarassing and thrilling at the same time. "I can see you getting wetter." His voice was hoarse. When he started using his tongue, she grabbed onto the counter. Slowly, softly he licked her, circling from the outside in, until he reached her clit. He worked it with smaller circles as he penetrated her with one finger, pressing forward with the tip on a place she didn't know she had. "Oh, Merlin," she gasped. She was sagging down bonelessly, held up by the wall and his shoulder under her left thigh. "No!" she cried when the tongue and finger withdrew.

Malfoy stood up, looking at her hungrily. He pushed things off the counter and set her on the edge. While he was getting both of her legs over his shoulders, Hermione fumbled his trousers open. His tongue slid into his mouth as he entered her, and Hermione moaned. Grasping her buttocks, he thrust into her hard. His fingers were bruising her, but she didn't care; the way he felt inside her was... _Merlin and Morgan_! Her climax made her shake all over.

"Are you protected? Can I come inside you?" he rasped into her ear.

"Yes."

He thrusted faster, giving her little orgasmic aftershocks. "_Hermione_," he cried out when he came.

...

Draco had a flat in the city. Hermione tried not to think about the women that had been there before her. It was luxurious, of course. The claw footed tub was big enough to fit them both comfortably. Hermione lounged back against him in the rose-scented water. The second man she'd ever had sex with in her life was Draco Malfoy. _Draco Malfoy_. She'd have a hard time believing it, if it wasn't for the fact that she was _laying naked in his arms_ this very second. She stared down at his Dark Mark as he lazily stroked her breasts. "So, why did you call me a mudblood back in school?"

Draco laughed, his breath stirring the fine hairs on her neck. "Because you hurt my feelings when you implied that I wasn't good enough to be on the Quidditch team. Because I was a prat."

"What are you now?"

"Still a bit of a prat. But much smarter now."

"So smart, you have a reputation for sleeping around?"

Draco made a huffing sound. "Don't let my wife's high hemlines fool you. She's a very cold-blooded woman."

"Parkinson says you cheated on her with Astoria. She must have been willing at one time."

"My wife put on a display of passion until we got married. I nearly got frostbite on our wedding night."

"Why do you stay with her? Do you love her still?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Come, you have to try out my bed. It's amazing" Draco said as he got out of the tub. The man was beautiful, and he knew it. He watched Hermione watch him as he slowly patted his body dry, starting at his feet and working up his long, gold-fuzzed legs to his slim hips. Her pulse sped up as he got hard right before her eyes."Get out of the tub, and I'll dry you off, too."

By the time they got to the bed, Hermione was mindless with lust. She had never before allowed her emotions to overrule her rational mind so much. She was on her back with her legs wrapped around his waist, working her hips frantically. _Oh, oh, ohhhhhh..._


	5. Chapter 5

After making a LOT of bone-headed mistakes recently, I got a Beta-reader.

...

Staying the night may not have been right, but the feel of a warm body next to her in the bed was too much for Hermione to resist. She fell into a deep, satisfied sleep with one leg draped over Draco's hips. About four in the morning, she was woken by an elbow jammed hard into her ribcage. Draco was thrashing around and shouting in a strangled-sounding voice. The only word that Hermione could understand was 'no'.

"Draco. Draco." She shook him lightly. His eyes opened wide, but they stared past her at some horror only he could see. She ducked a flailing fist. He let out one last howl, then blinked in confusion. He was finally awake, covered with sweat and breathing hard. Hermione touched him on the cheek. "What on earth were you dreaming about?"

Draco gazed at her wordlessly for a long moment, looking much younger than his age in the street-light that crept in through the blinds. He smiled bleakly. "Is it all right if we don't talk about some things?" he asked as he nestled against her.

"Sure." Hermione laid on her side so they were spooned together and Draco put an arm around her. Cheating wasn't supposed to feel so good, was it? Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep again.

_Bellatrix bared her teeth. "Stop being such a baby, Draco! You're a disgrace to your Dark Mark." A flick of her talon-like wand and Draco was spun around. _

_"I'll tell my mother that you Imperio'd me," he gritted between his teeth. He couldn't take his tearful eyes off of Hermione. _

_"Widdle baby Dwaco's going to tell his mummy," his aunt jeered."Now, watch and learn, princess." Bellatrix pointed her wand, and Hermione whimpered in anticipation of the unspeakable agony. The first two times had been unbearable. How was she going to live through a third time? "Crucio!" Over her own screams, Hermione could hear Draco vomiting. _

"HAA-UH!" Hermione sat straight up in bed, gasping. That damned dream again. She had it once a week, as regular as clockwork. She'd learned long ago not to mention it to Ron. He didn't deal well with problems that he couldn't fix.

_Beep beep beep beep_. Hermione could hear a microwave being set. Getting out of bed, she picked up a green tee shirt that was draped across a chair and put it on. It covered her to mid-thigh. Following the beeping, she found the kitchen, a narrow, galley-like space with a breakfast bar. Draco was in his boxers watching a rectangular object go around and around in the microwave.

Hermione looked at the empty box on the counter. "Frozen toad-in-the-hole? I guess Malfoys really do need house elves to survive."

"What? I like it. I've only just discovered supermarkets. Amazing places. I love Muggles now. They invented Fritos."

"Which is why they had to invent the diet and working out. Got any juice?"

"In the fridge. Glasses are in the cupboard over the stove." Draco watched avidly as Hermione stretched up on tip-toe to reach the high shelf. "Why are you pulling the shirt down? Don't want me to see your bum?"

Hermione grimaced. It was one of her weaknesses, her self-consciousness about her rear end. "It's too big."

"For what, exactly?"

"Well, you know, it's not the kind you see in the magazines." Hermione got the o.j. and started pouring.

"The magazines are wrong." Draco was behind her reaching under the tee -shirt. "Remember those jeans you had in sixth-year with the purple flowers on the pockets? You wore them every week-end."

Hermione had to put the juice carton down before she spilled. The things his hands were doing to her buttocks were very distracting. "Sure, I remember them. I'm surprised that you do, too."

Draco pressed up against her, his cheek against hers. "Every straight boy that was in school at the time remembers those jeans. They hugged that round bottom so perfectly and made you move with this wiggle. Everytime you walked by, we would all stand up and salute, so to speak."

"What?" Hermione couldn't suppress a giggle.

"Not that you would have seen it, with it all happening literally behind your... behind." He pushed her hair to the side and bit her on the back of the neck. The shirt was up past her waist now. The microwave went _beep beep beep_, but was ignored. The toad-in-the-hole got cold while Hermione was taught a new use for a kitchen counter.

...

Hermione returned home in the early afternoon through the fireplace. Kreacher was sitting at the kitchen table sobbing. "I thought Mistress Walburga had abandoned Kreacher," he wailed.

"There, there, Walburga's back home." Hermione regretted hugging him when he blew his nose on the front of her dress. Ah, well. Hermione stripped the dress off (she'd long since learned that house elves regarded human nudity the same way that humans regarded dog nudity) and tossed it in the fireplace, setting it alight with her wand. It was no longer her special 'seducing Ron' dress. She felt a little pang as she watched the fabric burn. _I wore it the first time Draco and I... FIRST time? The ONLY time!_

She took an extra-long bubble bath, put on some sweat pants and a tee, grabbed a cardboard box from a corner of her bedroom, and headed to the kitchen. It was the coziest room in the house, especially with a fire going. She set the box on the table and sat down, opening up the flaps. The radio was playing again. "We've had a request for a Conway Twitty/Loretta Lynn duet," the deejay said in his terrible fake Texas twang. "This one is called, 'After the Fire is Gone'."

Hermione and Ron's wedding album was at the top of the box. She'd brought it with to Grimmauld Place, fearing that Ron might burn it in one of his rages. The man had a talent for being angry. The cover of the album was a padded, white satin frame embellished with iridescent beads and sequins; a picture of the two of them kissing just after saying their vows was under the clear plastic window in the center. It was a moving wizard photo. Hermione watched it loop at least twenty times. The vicar's lips formed the words, 'You may kiss the bride.' Ron, looking shockingly young and handsome in his black dress robes, put his arms around her waist and smushed his face against hers. It wasn't an elegant embrace, but it was full of feeling. Hermione smiled, wiping a few tears away.

Flipping through the pages, Hermione marveled at how happy they'd looked, how besotted they'd been. The last picture in the album was of them snogging on the dance floor shortly before they'd snuck off to their hotel room. Every detail of what had happened after that was seared into her memory. They'd both been virgins, and it had been painful (on her part only, she was sure) and awkward, but there was so much laughter and affection that it didn't matter that it was far from perfect.

Next from the box was an album of pictures they'd taken on their honeymoon in the Maldives. Two weeks of chasing Ron around to perform sunblocking charms on him to protect his blindingly white skin from the tropical sun. They'd gotten to know each others' bodies in those fourteen days. Before going home, they spent some time partying in Ibiza, culminating in Ron dragging her into an alley one night, pushing her up against a wall and taking her right there with other revelers only a few feet away from them. Looking back, Hermione couldn't remember ever having to initiate anything sexual; Ron hadn't been able to keep his hands off of her.

When had that ended? Oddly, around the same time that they'd started seriously discussing having a baby. Around the same time that their relationship changed from sweet and affectionate and humor-filled to tense and argumentive.

"Next, a good 'un from Randy Travis," the deejay drawled.

"_I'm diggin' up bones, I'm diggin' up bones _

_Exhuming things that's better left alone _

_I'm resurrecting memories of a love that's dead and gone _

_Yeah tonight I'm sittin' alone diggin' up bones_"

Hermione was really starting to hate that radio.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter took a bit longer than usual. First of all, I had two very tough beta readers go over it. As a result, I think this is the best chapter so far. (Thanks, Thorsmaven!) Then I got delayed by a nasty carpal tunnel flare-up. But, finally, it is here!

Warning/promise: explicit Dramione sex

...

Hermione sat at the kitchen table chewing on the end of the pencil she held. Kreacher was complaining again, this time about how 'Walburga' was ignoring the breakfast he'd made her. "I'll eat it later," she said as she flipped open a notebook. Hermione drew a line down the center of the first page. At the top of the left hand column, she wrote 'Ron'. Over the right side, she wrote 'Draco'.

Ron-plus: Draco-plus:

Known him for over half my life Great sex

Never called me a mudblood Beautiful

Love his family Seems to think that I'm sexy

All my friends are his friends too Witty

My wedding vows-until death etc. etc. Can talk about more than Quidditch

We were happy before, we can be Likes to go out

happy again Makes me feel desired

My first love Loves to dance

Good memories Supports my career

I'm not a quitter

Ron-minus: Draco-minus:

No sex MARRIED

No affection MALFOY

Wants me to give up my career His family

Doesn't like to do anything but watch/ Used to bully me

listen to/talk about Quidditch Even if I knew his friends, we

Wants me to be like his mother couldn't socialize with them

Doesn't take care of himself I'm only his MISTRESS

or his appearance

In very large block letters, she wrote across the bottom: 'I DO NOT GIVE UP EASILY!' She stared at the list for a full ten minutes. Then she added one thing to Ron's minus list: 'Doesn't listen to me.' To Draco's plus list, she added, 'Listens to me.'

Hermione still had that strange feeling of being split in two. During the work week, she and Draco acted as if they were merely two professionals who worked well together. But Friday night was the night Astoria went out with her girlfriends, and Draco would come calling. No matter how many times Hermione vowed to herself during the week that she would be strong, she found herself going to him every weekend. It wasn't just the sex. It was that he so clearly wanted to be with her, to engage with her, to talk and laugh and play and dance. She had seen a little of that side of him when they'd been in school, spying on him and the other Slytherins from behind books, but she hadn't been close enough to feel the full force of his personality. She now knew why he'd always been the most popular Slytherin.

Hermione added 'Makes me laugh' to Draco's 'plus' column. Once upon a time, he hadn't seemed that funny to her, but now he used his sense of humor to charm her, not to hurt her. Though, she had to admit, 'Weasley is Our King' had made her giggle a few times back in the day. She tapped the pencil against her teeth, thinking. Her eyes kept going back to one particularly ugly word: MISTRESS.

Tired of being ignored by Hermione, Kreacher turned on his new radio. When she gave it to him, she demonstrated how to tune it, letting him listen to a little bit of every station that she could find except for _that _one. Now he hit the buttons, zipping past static and bits of music and talk until he found what he was looking for. "Next is a classic cheatin' song by Kenny Rogers-'Daytime Friends and Nighttime Lovers'," the DJ said in his terrible fake Texas twang. Hermione turned the notebook to a blank page and began doodling a plan for destroying the WNN-Country broadcasting studio.

...

Ron chewed on his lower lip as he and Hermione waited in a beige-walled room. "Do we have to do this?" he asked plaintively.

"I think we do, Ron. Sometimes you can't fix a thing yourself."

His eyes were wide, and he took a deep breath as his hands fiddled nervously with his tie. "What if she tells us it can't be fixed?"

The sadness in her husband's voice made Hermione flinch. The fact that he actually agreed to come with her today made her hopeful, but what he had just said made her stomach do an uncomfortable flip. She wanted to be optimistic, she really did, but it got harder every day.

A tall, blonde woman came into the room and sat down across from Ron and Hermione. Ron immediately crossed his arms tightly over his chest and sucked his lips in. It was a posture that Hermione recognized all too well; it was what he did when he was hiding his vulnerability. It was obvious that he wasn't going to say a word, so Hermione began to speak.

Ten minutes in, Ron gaped at Hermione. "Why are you telling a stranger this? Why are you telling _anyone _this?"

"She's a marriage counselor, Ron. It's her job to hear things like this."

"That's right," the woman said. "I'm a trained professional, and anything you tell me is confidential. And, though I'm not a witch myself, there are several in my family, so you don't have to hide what you are from me."

"This isn't a wizard sort of thing to do," Ron said, "it's what Muggles do." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, making the taupe leather squeak.

"What do wizards do when they're having marital problems?" The tone of the counselor's voice made it clear that this was a rhetorical question.

"I wouldn't know. My parents have a wonderful marriage."

"I'll tell you what wizards do when they're troubled." The therapist continued as if Ron hadn't spoken. She leaned forward in her chair and did her best to catch Ron's evasive gaze. "They repress. They deny. They try to bury their feelings by drinking firewhiskey, or gambling too much on Quidditch, or by eating too much." Ron turned purple at the last sentence. "Some of them get such self-destructive urges that they follow the likes of the Dark Lord. I know it's in a wizard's nature to be close-mouthed, but it can be a very unhealthy way to live. The wizarding world is just finally emerging from the Middle Ages in many ways. The idea of counseling is new and frightening to you, I know, but it's your best chance at fixing your marriage."

"My parents are just fine without it," Ron said.

"My parents went to a counselor, and it helped them immensely," Hermione said.

Ron cut his eyes toward his estranged wife. "Is that where you got this ridiculous idea?"

"Let's get back on track," the therapist said. "Your wife says that you stopped finding her desirable around the same time that you started to seriously want children. There is a particular issue that many men have. Let's call it the madonna/whore dichotomy. These men divide women into two distinct groups: mothers and sexual women. Perhaps, once you thought of her as a potential mother, you lost the ability to see Hermione in a sexual manner."

"Maybe I'm just tired after a long day's work!" Ron was starting to sweat.

"I found your pornographic magazines!" Hermione yelled. "You still have a sex drive, but you'd rather-you know-than be with me!" _Oh, damn. _Hermione felt herself begin to tear up.

Speechlessness overcame Ron. His eyes bulged as his mouth opened and closed. He got up out of the chair and rushed for the door. So ended their first and last marriage counseling session.

...

The morning after the counseling failure, Hermione woke up feeling like she had been flattened. It was all she could do to drag herself to work. The lift that she got when she saw Draco rifling through the in-box on her desk was undeniable, and slightly irritating.

Before they left for the day, Draco called to Hermione, "Will it be the usual tonight?"

Hermione's eyes scanned the crowd around them, worried that someone would pick up the hidden meaning of Draco's words, but everyone else was too intent on getting home to pay the two of them any mind. Draco was grinning at her, looking like he'd just stepped out of a Hugo Boss ad in his perfectly tailored suit and charcoal gray trench coat. No, she thought. "Yes," she said.

...

Hermione used a brush to stroke crimson gloss on her lips, and she lined her eyes in gray. She finished with black mascara. Blush was unnecessary. Her cheeks would pink up on their own soon enough.

_Let me tell you what wizards do when they're troubled. They repress. They deny. They try to bury their feelings by drinking firewhiskey, or gambling too much on Quidditch, or by eating too much. _Perhaps some witches tried to forget their woes by having affairs with completely inappropriate men.

Hermione wondered if this was what it was like to be an addict, the brain saying 'no' while the hand reached for the bottle, the pipe... the body of a man who belongs to another.

After spraying on a little perfume, Hermione went down the the kitchen, her high heels clicking. Kreacher moaned when he saw her; the house elf knew that she was going to leave him alone again.

"It's Friday night," a voice purred from the fireplace. "Are you going to go out dancing with me?"

Hermione got up from the kitchen table and twirled. She had on a new dress, black with a swingy, long fringe overlaying the skirt. "What do you think?"

"Perfect!"

Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it, and said, "Incognito's." She stepped out into a candle-lit club. Among the things she'd learned from Draco was the existence of a clandestine network of club, restaurants, and hotels catering to Pure-blood men and their non-Pure-blood mistresses. Draco had explained that they were made necessary by the Pure-blood tendency to marry for factors other than love. He'd been silent when Hermione asked about what Pure-blood _women_ did. Apparently, they were just supposed to suffer their husbands' infidelities in silence, as women had done for centuries. The marriage counselor was right; the Pure-blood world was still nearly Medieval.

Incognito's had no doors or windows. From the outside, the club looked like a boarded-up warehouse, and one had to Floo or Apparate in and out. It wasn't just to discourage jealous wives. Rita Skeeter could no longer get any work from respectable publications, so she'd started her own weekly gossip tabloid called 'Skeeter's Bites'; she loved ambushing unfaithful wizards so she could publish photographs of them with what she called their 'tootsies'. Hermione wasn't thrilled with having to go to places like Incognito's, but it was better than ending up on the front page of 'Skeeter's Bites,' flinging a hand over her guilty face while flash-bulbs popped in her face.

Inside, the club was elegant, with both dance floor and wall panels made of honey-colored wood. Draco looked Hermione up and down in a way that made her feel hot all over. His eyes lingered on her breasts, and he smirked when he saw her nipples start to poke out against the thin fabric of her bodice. "You look amazing in that dress," he said. He held his arms out, an invitation to dance.

A jazz combo fronted by a contralto played romantic Muggle and wizard standards. Draco danced Hermione backwards, then spun her about so the fringe of her skirt flared out. He pulled her close again, setting a hand low on her hip, nearly on her rump. They were cheek to cheek, and his hint of stubble felt pleasantly rough on her skin. His lips found that sensitive place just below her ear. Hermione knew that she enjoyed this far too much. Men were only interested in dancing when a relationship was new, as far as she could tell. Eventually, she imagined, Draco would stop wanting to go out with her. It would be over, then, wouldn't it? He already had a wife to sit at home with. Once the initial rush of infatuation was over, he'd likely move on to someone else that would make his heart pound. It was what he'd learned from his father, after all.

"What's wrong? You look sad," Draco asked as he dipped her.

"It's just this song," Hermione replied. It was a witch's torch song from the Forties that did tear her up a bit, a slow-burn about empty arms and endless nights. Merlin, she was losing Ron. And the man that held her right now wasn't hers. " 'Were you ever mine at all'," she sang.

"Nothing to do with the ginger idiot? Really?" Draco looked into her eyes and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

Hermione smiled, just a little. "War is easy. Marriage is hard."

"You speak the truth. Let me cheer you up." Draco danced her out into the courtyard that was at the center of the club. It was a perfect summer night. Not too hot, mildly breezy, and with a big, bright moon. They danced on the brick path. Draco pulled her in closer, and their bodies rubbed together deliciously as they swayed to the music. Burying her face against his neck, Hermione ran her hands from the small of his back up to his shoulders, clinging tightly. He smelled of suede and musk. Hermione's dress left most of her back bare; she shivered when he ran a finger down her spine. She looked up at him. His face was perfectly visible in the moonlight, and she could see him gazing at her like she was the only thing on the Earth that mattered at this moment. Yes, this was an addiction, and the mouth that coaxed her own open was an intoxicant. Growling, he nipped playfully at her bottom lip.

Another couple came into the courtyard, so they went off the path and around a jog in the wall to where they wouldn't be seen. The dance was turning into something else. Draco's tongue moved in a suggestive rhythm inside her mouth as he pressed against her. Hermone could feel how hard he was. She reached for his trouser zip, but Draco laughed and pushed her hand away. "Slow down. I want to see you, first."

Hermione leaned back against a tree and pushed the front of her dress down, baring her breasts. "Play with them," Draco ordered. The greedy look on his face made Hermione want to do whatever he told her to do. She licked her index fingers and stroked them in circles on her nipples, which were already rock-hard. She'd fantasized about doing this sort of thing many times, but had never had the confidence to do it before. Hearing Draco's breathing grow ragged, she grew bolder, pinching and pulling the stiff nubs. "Touch yourself," he ordered, his voice hoarse. When Hermione lifted up her skirt, he chuckled. "I knew you weren't wearing any knickers." Rubbing herself while he watched was embarassing and exciting at the same time; her heart raced, and she was sweating as she circled a finger around her hard little bud. She put the sole of one foot on the tree trunk behind her so she could give him a better view. Groaning, Draco unzipped his trousers and wrapped his hand around his erection, stroking it. Seeing how aroused she made him sent Hermione over the edge into a hard climax.

Draco pushed against her, trying to thrust inside, but Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him against a wall. He chuckled lasciviously as she went to her knees. Holding his hot hardness against her cheek, she looked up at him, enjoying the sight of his flushed, sweaty face in the moonlight, knowing that _she _was the one who made him pant that way. Hermione ran her tongue up and down Draco's shaft. When she swirled her tongue around the tip, he clutched at her hair. She took his length into her mouth, and he gasped. She may have been the one on her knees, but she was the one in control; he was helpless against her lips and tongue. His legs trembled as he came.

Draco pulled Hermione up and held her close. "I've corrupted you. Should I feel guilty about that?"

"It's not as if I put up much of a fight."

...

"I don't know what's wrong with my place," Draco said as he followed Hermione out of the Grimmauld Place kitchen fireplace. After their courtyard interlude, they'd danced until Incognito's closed for the night.

"What's wrong with it is that there's nothing to eat there that doesn't come in a cardboard tray."

"Master Abraxas has come to visit!" Kreacher had been sleeping on the counter again, using a pot-holder as a pillow. He beamed at the sight of Draco.

"I'm not-"

"Just go with it," Hermione said. "Be quiet in the hall. Walburga's portrait still likes to scream."

In the bedroom, they stripped each other's clothes off and tumbled onto the bed.

"Doesn't your wife wonder where you are all night?" Hermione asked.

"Forget about my wife. I do."


	7. Chapter 7

"Nnng... no. No."

Draco's thrashing woke Hermione at seven in the morning. He was covered in sweat and so pale that he looked green in the faint glow that came from Hermione's nigh-light. "Wake up, Draco. It's just a dream." Hermione gave him a shake and then scooted to the far side of the bed, as she had learned to do.

His fist swung out, punching the space where Hermione had been a second before. His eyes opened wide, rolling wildly until he finally realized where he was. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione, I didn't hit you again, did I?"

"No, I'm fine." She sighed in pleasure when he gathered her in his arms and buried his face in her hair.

"I had a nightmare on my wedding night. I didn't hit Astoria, but she refused to ever sleep in a bed with me after that." His breath tickled her scalp as he spoke.

"Ron claims I could stop having mine if I just tried hard enough."

Draco went up on one elbow and cupped Hermione's chin in his hand. "Sometimes I think we were made for each other." His lips covered hers in a light kiss.

_Don't say things like that_, Hermione thought, _It's cruel to make me wish for things that I can't have_. But she didn't say a word. She couldn't, not with his tongue gently brushing against hers and his hands skimming down her body.

...

After a slow, languorous bout of love-making, they went down to the kitchen. Kreacher was ecstatic to be making breakfast for 'Abraxas'. Hermione had to follow the senile elf around to avert disasters; Kreacher slapped sausages directly on the stove-top, nearly added sugar instead of salt to the eggs, and squeezed lemons for orange juice. The eggs started to burn while he tuned the radio in to his favorite station. "Next up, Alan Jackson's version of the country classic, 'Who's Cheatin' Who'."

Hermione loved the domesticity of a morning like this, sitting at the kitchen table in her over-sized 'Bookworm' tee-shirt and with her hair still a mess, across from a man in his boxers sipping coffee and flipping through the morning paper. That the man's tousled locks were blond instead of ginger gave her a little pang of heart-ache. She wondered how long it might take for that to go away, if things couldn't be mended between Ron and her.

Green flames erupted from the fireplace and, as if summoned by her thoughts, Ron came stumbling through into the kitchen. "Hermione, we need to-" He stopped short. "What's _he _doing here?" Ron wheeled around so he could glare at Hermione. "You and-_that_?"

Hermione dropped the spatula she was holding. Her mouth opened, but all she could do was make ridiculous little creaking noises. Draco had set the paper down and was watching Ron warily.

"I can't-you-how-I-no-what-" Ron was that awful purple shade that clashed with his hair. He clutched at the sides of his head. "Here I'd been thinking that you were too good for me, and you've been tarting around with a bloody Malfoy?"

"_That's_ what the problem was all this time?" Hermione asked incredulously. It made a strange sort of sense.

A body hurtled out of the fireplace, slamming into Ron. "Oof. Have you told her, Ronny?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Gertie? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Drakie!" The girl wiggled her fingers in a child's wave and winked. Draco winced at the nickname.

"Gert, I told you to stay at my place," Ron barked.

"I wanted to make sure you had the guts to actually do it." Gertie put her hands on her hips and glared at Ron.

Hermione wrinkled up her forehead and shook her head. "What is going on here?" What did Gregory Goyle's younger sister have to do with... anything? The girl looked nothing like her brother; she was short, and attractive in a cheap sort of way. She was just as stupid as Gregory, though; the only reason she still had her job at the Leaky Cauldron was that her cleavage (potion-enhanced, Hermione was convinced) kept drawing in customers. The famous cleavage was now in Hermione's kitchen, barely contained by a halter top. High heels, a mini-skirt, and a face full of make-up at nine on a Saturday morning? Really?

Gertie flipped her bleached hair and gave Hermione a smug look. "I'm gonna have a baby."

It took Hermione a few moments to grasp the significance of this sentence. "Ron! _Her_?" Hermione had too many feelings going on at once. She started pacing back and forth across the kitchen, having to burn off some of the agitated energy that was filling her before she exploded. "I was too good for you, so you impregnate someone far inferior?"

Gertie drew her wand. "I told you she was just a bitch, Ronny!"

Draco had Hermione's wand, which had been sitting on the kitchen table. He wielded it almost lazily, pointing it at the bottle-blond. "Behave yourself, Gert."

Hermione stopped her pacing and folded her arms tightly against her body. "How long have you been sleeping with her?"

Ron just tightened his lips.

"Since January," Gertie boasted. Hermione wanted to claw the smug simper off the girl's face.

"Months before we separated. Interesting," Hermione said with a deadly calm. "Did you ever really intend to try to fix our marriage? Or did you drive me away on purpose?"

"We're getting married," Gertie interjected.

"Gertie, shut the hell up," Draco said.

"Is that true, Ron? You're divorcing me for that? Well, I'm sure you'll have a long marriage. At least, it will feel like an eternity, being married to that idiot." Gertie hissed, but Draco sent a tiny stinging hex her way, hitting her wand arm. Gertie dropped her wand and whimpered.

Ron still didn't speak. The look of pure misery on his face almost made Hermione pity him. He had no choice but to marry the chit-her family was not made up of the brightest of wizards, but they could still cast nasty hexes when provoked. Not to mention that Gregory could tear Ron to pieces with his bare hands. Perhaps, eventually, Hermione would actually have some sympathy for him. It would be quite a while, though.

Kreacher shrieked; while the drama had been unfolding, he had been trying to fry bacon, and the fat had burst into flames. By the time Draco and Hermione smothered the fire, Ron and Gertie were gone.

Hermione sank down on a chair and put her head in her hands. "Bloody hell. I need a drink."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," she said in a very small voice just before she burst into tears.

...

Hermione's heart just wasn't in her work the week after the Gertie Incident. Everything around her seemed seemed flat and colorless. It wasn't just her marriage that had died; it was her friendship with Ron, too. Someone who had been important to her for more than half her life was now... what? What was Ron to her now?

The news about Ron's impending nuptials and fatherhood had swiftly spread through the wizarding community. Everywhere she went, Hermione received pitying looks. Well, except from Gregory Goyle; when she had passed him in Diagon Alley, he had grabbed her by the arm and offered to... comfort her. She had taken a long, hot shower after that.

It was Thursday morning, and Hermione walked toward Draco's lab with a box full of suspect potions, pasting a false smile on her face to deflect well-meaning people who would just end up saying things that would make her feel bad. "Hey, Hermione, how are you holding up?" Harry caught her just outside the lab and squeezed her shoulder gently.

_I'd be doing a lot better if people would just stop reminding me that I feel terrible_. "I'm fine, Harry."

"Ginny is just beside herself. She feels like she has to be loyal to her brother, but she knows he's in the wrong. And she's not happy about having Gertie Goyle at our Sunday dinners." Realizing that he had been tactless, Harry snapped his mouth shut, patted Hermione on the back, and hurried off.

Gertie was taking Hermione's place. At every Weasley family gathering, it would be Gertie sitting next to Ron. Hermione slumped against the wall as the ramifications hit her. The Weasleys were like her own family for so long, but that wouldn't be true any more, would it?

"What are you doing?" Draco was leaning out of the door of his lab, giving her a concerned look.

"Just looking over the wreckage of my life," she said.

"Well, that's a bit... melodramatic."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

...

It was Friday night at Incognito's, and Hermione was dancing to fast jazz with Draco. She had intended to stay home alone and drink too much beer and cry over her wedding album, but, Merlin, she was tired of being miserable. She certainly wasn't miserable now, with Draco skillfully twirling and dipping her; Hermione was starting to believe that there was a relationship between a man's ability to dance and how good he was in bed. The music tempo slowed. The singer growled into the microphone and started a sexy ballad. Draco grinned and pulled her closer.

Half-way through the song, Hermione felt Draco grow tense; she looked up and saw that he was glaring at something behind her. Turning, she saw that the target of his anger was none other than Lucius Malfoy. He was wearing a black three-piece suit and escorting a perky-looking witch half his age. The two were on the edge of the dance floor, the woman looking up at Lucius like he was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. When Lucius' hand moved down to cup one of her buttocks, Draco made a noise of disgust.

"What? He's not doing anything that you're not," Hermione said.

Draco stopped dancing so abruptly, Hermione nearly fell over backwards. His cheeks reddened and his eyes went dark. "I'm not like him! I only cheat because I'm married to an ice-cold gold-digger, and I only have one woman at a time! He's never loved _any_ of them. He doesn't even love my mother."

Hermione's stomach did a funny flip. Did Draco mean that he had loved at least one of the women that he had fooled around with?

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to bite your head off. I just want you to know that you're not just another notch on my bed-post." Draco's face relaxed into a warm smile.

Hermione turned to look at Lucius and his date again. The elder Malfoy artfully steered his date around the dance floor; apparently dancing ability could be inherited. Cold gray eyes met hers; the unfriendly smile that Draco's father sent her gave her the chills.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione scowled at the letter in her hand, then tossed it in the air, Vanishing it before it hit the ground. She marched to the kitchen and stuck her head in the fireplace. "Ron!" Back in the living room of the flat they used to share, Ron jumped, nearly falling off the couch. Hermione could hear the wireless broadcasting a Chudley Cannons match in the background. "You're contacting me by owl now? You can't actually bring yourself to speak to me?"

"Uh, uh, busy, stuff. Could you call back later?"

"What's the problem? I've seen you in your tighty whiteys before."

"Shhh!"

Clack clack clack. Gertie minced into the room in zebra-print heels and a hot pink mini. "Who is it, Ronnie?"

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked Gertie. It seemed like a valid question; humans were not supposed to be orange. "Are you an Ooompa-Loompa?"

"Ronnie, I told you I don't want you talking to her!" Gertie put her fists on her hips.

"I don't want to talk to her, either!"

"Of course you don't," Hermione sighed. "So you send me an owl letting me know that you're going to dump the rest of my things on my front step while I'm at work. What a brilliant idea, Ron. I've always wanted to have homeless people pawing through my personal mementos."

"What's wrong with my spray tan?" Gertie demanded, finally having figured out that she had been insulted.

Ron just sat curled up on the couch, looking like a turtle out of its shell. It was strange how some people looked so reduced without their clothes. "I'm not sup-I really don't want to talk to you, Hermione."

" 'Hermione'. It's been so long since you've called me 'Mione, Ron." Hermione's rage faded to sadness.

"You're not welcome here!" Gertie shrilled.

Damn, that girl was annoying. "You will give me all of my things now, and then I will happily leave you two alone. Merlin knows you deserve each other."

"Do it, Ron. Now!" Gertie ordered. Ron scurried off.

Gertie just stood there glaring at Hermione, as if she thought the older woman would go on a rampage if she wasn't watched closely. It was a tempting thought. The tacky lamp on the side-table that was made out of a firewhiskey bottle would be the first thing to go, that was for sure; it must have been something Gertie brought in. Hermione was filled with rage again; _he had moved that tart in already_. "You better not have stretched out any of my clothes with those ridiculous balloons you have on your chest."

"As if I would wear any of your granny clothes."

Ron had put jeans and a pull-over on. He shoved a box that was crammed full of random flotsam at Hermione. "There, bye."

"There's more than one box's worth of my things here, Ron." Huffing and puffing, Ron left again, leaving the women to their stare-down. "By the way, Gertrude, you don't look pregnant, you just look fat."

"Who are you to talk, with that arse?"

"I hope you baby looks like your brother!"

"Oh, now, that's just_ not on_!" Ron slammed the second box on the floor in front of the fireplace to the sound of breaking glass. "How could you say something so terrible?"

Gertie swung around to glare at Ron. "What's wrong with my brother?"

Hermione dragged her things into her kitchen as an argument started between the two parents-to-be. Then she leaned against a wall for support and laughed until she cried.

...

Hermione was in the hallway picking up the remains of a book that Kreacher had shredded for mysterious reasons when she heard the scrape of footsteps just outside her front door. "Ron?"

He was in the middle of setting a box on the step. He gaped up at her. "Uh, I thought you'd be at work."

"There was a mass escape from Magical Creatures. We had to evacuate."

Ron handed her the box and stood there awkwardly, scratching his head. "Gertie wouldn't talk to me for two days after you firecalled."

"I've heard her speak. I would think that would be a good thing," Hermione snapped. "Oh... I need to stop this. Come on, let's have a cup of tea together and try to have a civilized divorce." Ron hesitated at the threshold. "Slip your leash, puppy-dog."

Ron hunched his shoulders in a defensive gesture as he walked in. "You never used to be this sarcastic. Or catty."

"People change. Especially when their marriages implode because their husbands are putting the boots to cheap barmaids." After dumping the box next to the stairs, Hermione followed Ron to the kitchen.

"I would appreciate you not talking about Gertie that way. She's going to be the mother of my child."

"Lucky you." Hermione put a kettle on to boil. "Sorry. I'll stop."

Kreacher, who had been drowsing under the table, sat up and frowned at Ron. "That's a Weasley, that is!" he said accusingly. "Does Mistress Walburga want Kreacher to hex him?"

"Not at the moment. Maybe later." Hermione took down some china cups and measured out the tea.

The radio was on, playing Kreacher's favorite station. ""Next is 'For the Good Times,' an oldie but goodie by Ray Price," the deejay said over a wash of violins. Kreacher began to snore. Hermione gently scooped the house elf up. He was shrunken and frail, like a doll in her arms; a very ugly doll. She carried him to his bed and tucked him in.

When she returned from Kreacher's little room, Ron was seated and looking at her oddly. "You act like you're the blighter's mother."

"He's in his last days. He deserves some pampering." Hermione was walking behind Ron when she noticed that the back of his shirt was covered with fur. Instinctively, she reached out and started brushing it off.

"Gertie just got a couple of little fluffy things that she calls dogs," Ron said, sounding martyred. "I think they're actually demons. They've eaten most of my shoes and they growl when I try to sit next to her."

"I'm trying really hard to not say 'I told you so'. I mean, I didn't actually tell you 'I told you so,' but I certainly did think-" Hermione squeaked when Ron spun around, surprisingly fast for a chubby man man, and grabbed her tightly around the waist, pulling her down for a rather wet kiss. She was so shocked she couldn't react. He stood up and threw her down on the table, scrabbling under her dress. It was more like a grappling match than love-making, the sound of Ron's labored breathing far too loud in her ear until it was drowned out by the screaming of the kettle. Hermione's body responded, but when it was all over, it just felt _wrong_.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione. I've messed everything up so bad." Ron was still clutching her around the waist, his face buried in her lap. "I really did think you were too good for me. It made me do stupid things."

"Ron, if only you'd-" She stopped herself. What use were recriminations now? Yes, if he could only have allowed himself to be vulnerable before the separation, before he decided to carry on with Gertie, perhaps their marriage could have been saved. Or maybe not. Maybe they were never right for each other from the beginning. Tears stung her eyes. Oddly, what made it hurt wasn't that she still loved him; it was that she didn't love him any more. "You know this is it, right? You get legal counsel, I get my own, we meet in an office somewhere and sign papers."

"Yeah." Ron's voice was raspy.

Her soon-to-be ex didn't seem to be planning on letting go of her any time soon. "Ah, could I get that kettle before it boils dry?"

Ron rubbed his face against the skirt of her dress before he got up. "I should get going. Gertie gets off work soon." His face was red and his eyes were swollen as he stood there uncertainly before Hermione. "Um, get in touch, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said softly. _The end_, she thought.

...

Hermione was getting ready to go out with Draco again. She had just bought a new dress, overjoyed that she was down a size from all the dancing she had been doing lately. She checked out the rear view in the full-length mirror. _My arse is just fine_, she thought with satisfaction. _Ron who? What's a Gertie Goyle? It's Friday night, and I have no idea. They will not cross my mind, not even once._

"Master Abraxas is here!" Kreacher announced excitedly as he doddered into the bedroom.

Well, that was a bit out of the ordinary. "Tell him to wait for me in the living room. I'm almost ready." Hermione fluffed her hair-left unsmoothed tonight, since Draco professed to love its natural state-and sprayed on a little Vivienne Westwood Boudoir, tapping down the stairs in a pair of Louboutins that had been marked down 70% because of scratches that Hermione had fixed with a little bit of magic. "You just couldn't wait twenty more minutes to see me, Draco?" she teased as she walked into the living room. There was no one there. "Draco?"

"Ahem." There he was in the doorway. Tall, blond, handsome, well-dressed. Cheekbones one could cut oneself on. An ecstatic house elf wrapped around his left leg. His gray eyes narrowed as he smiled.

"What are you doing here?" A long, well-manicured hand flicked out. Galleons flew from it, some of them hitting Hermione on the legs and stomach before landing on the floor. Her eyes widened in outrage. "What was that for?"

"Master Abraxas is being mean to Mistress Walburga!" Kreacher shouted in distress. He was shoved out into the hallway.

"That's why you're carrying on with a Malfoy, isn't it? Money? I'm merely trying to persuade you to be my mistress instead of my son's." That smile was like an ice cube slipped down the back of one's shirt.

"I'm with Draco because I-because I like being with him," Hermione said fiercely.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Did you almost say that you love him? You do realize that a man never marries his mistress, don't you, dear?"

Hermione lifted her chin. "I know better than to have any expectations."

Lucius slowly walked toward her. Hermione realized that her wand was still upstairs, and that Lucius was between her and the doorway. He stopped six inches from her and grasped her by one arm, using his other hand to tip her chin up so he could look her in the eye. With her wand, Hermione was a powerful witch. Without it she was merely a woman who was smaller and weaker than the man who had his hands on her. A primal fear made her shiver. "You're trembling. What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

Hermione stubbornly stayed silent.

"I am warning you. That is all. You will stop carrying on with my son. If you do not, I will make you regret it."

Hermione's nostrils flared. "You're constantly watched by the Ministry. If you so much as buy a voodoo doll, you'll end up back in Azkaban." Lucius' eyes flickered, but Hermione couldn't get a sense of whether or not he was bluffing. "Why do you care, anyway? Especially the way you play around. You've slept with girls I went to school with, for Merlin's sake. I would think you would be proud that he's following your example," she spat.

"The reason I care, little girl, is that my son, when he made a pre-nuptial agreement with that gold-digging bitch that he married, was thinking with a part of his body other than his brain. At twenty-one, he gained half the Malfoy fortune. According to the pre-nup, if Draco commits infidelity, the bitch is entitled to a quarter of his the two of them have a child, that is. In that situation, she gets one half. I am not letting that scheming little chit win."

"You'll let your son go without-without-without love for money?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

Lucius' fingers tightened on her chin. "He is getting enough love in his marriage that if you and he are found out, he will lose half his fortune."

"They don't have a..."

"Not quite yet. In a few more months."

"You're lying."

Lucius released her. He made a show of neatening himself, smoothing his cloak and straightening his hat. "I believe you will be visiting Malfoy Manor soon on a Ministry nanny-check. Perhaps you and Astoria could share a little girl-talk." He turned and went for the door, a repulsive jauntiness to his step. Hermione dropped to the floor, scooped up some Galleons, and flung them as hard as he could at his back.


	9. Chapter 9

The last chapter!

...

Of course, Lucius woke up Walburga's portrait as he left. "Abraxas! Abraxas! Where are you going?" it screeched. Kreacher was whimpering in confusion, and Hermione felt like doing the same. She certainly didn't feel like going out dancing tonight. She thought about asking Draco if it was true that Astoria was pregnant, but she suspected that he was a very good liar. He had to be, if Astoria didn't suspect that he had a mistress. Or perhaps she did, and she was just waiting until she had enough evidence? Hermione sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. It was far too late to send an owl to cancel her date. Hermione kicked off her heels and trudged down to the kitchen, trying to ignore Walburga's insults.

There it was in the fireplace, the face that Hermione wasn't sure she could trust. "Are you ready?" Draco asked, grinning.

"I don't feel well."

"What's wrong? I'll send you a potion."

Hermione wrinkled her forehead and flapped one hand. "It's all right, it's just... a woman thing." Those last two words usually sent men fleeing.

"Oh, cramps? I'll send you something by owl immediately." He waved and disappeared.

Well, that probably was the proper Malfoy response. The family had made much of its vast fortune through the sale of curatives and tonics. The vast fortune that Lucius was so protective of... What sort of women did Lucius have experience with for him to assume that every one was just out for money? Judging from the bitterness in his voice, it had been more than just the woman his son had married. Hermione could almost feel pity for the man. Almost.

The dress was unzipped and hung in the closet. The cream lace knickers with the ribbon laced up the back went into the hamper. Hermione changed into a ratty old tee shirt and shorts, and cleaned the make-up off her face. Then she sat in the kitchen, reading a trashy romance while sipping tea and comforting Kreacher; the house elf was still upset, though he no longer remembered what he was upset about. The radio played softly in the background; Hermione resisted the urge to Vanish it when it played 'Does He Love You,' by Reba McEntire. The owl came with the potion, and Hermione went to bed early, though it was a long time before she fell asleep.

...

The following week, work was... awkward. After returning from an inspection at the Nott manor, Hermione had to drop off several flasks for testing. Draco was in his lab, looking as good as ever in his white coat. "Are you feeling better?" he asked. "Did the potion work?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She could feel his eyes on her; she couldn't bring herself to look back at him. He would see there was something wrong, he would ask about it, and she didn't want to give him the opportunity to lie to her. "I've got to inspect your home next."

"Today?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you should wait until tomorrow," Draco said casually. "Mother and Father are away on holiday until then." He poured the contents of one of the flasks into a beaker and sniffed at it.

"What about Astoria? Won't she be there?"

"She may be out shopping. She shops a lot." Draco added a couple of drops of something out of a vial and stirred the beaker with a glass rod. Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his level of truthfulness. The beaker emitted a puff of acid-green smoke. "Why, Theo, you devil! Though, in combination with that troll pox cure you caught him with a few months ago, it's slightly disturbing. It's an aphrodisiac." He turned, grabbing Hermione's bottom and giving it a squeeze. "Want to try it out right now?"

Hermione pulled away; it took all her willpower to do so. "Ah, I've got to get back to work."

"Maybe this weekend, eh?"

The urge to look at him was overwhelming. She gave in just enough to see the devilish grin on his face, the one that never failed to hit her below the waist-line. "I-I really must be going." She blindly pushed her way out of the lab, slamming into an Auror. "Sorry," she muttered, not even noticing that it was Harry.

...

The Malfoy gate scowled and made a rude noise at Hermione, but it swung open and let her in. A house elf answered the front door, staring at Hermione and scratching her butt. "What you want?" she grunted.

The Malfoy house elves were a surly lot, now that they no longer feared punishment. "Is anyone home?"

The elf turned and bellowed, "ASTORIAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Tippy-tappy-tippy-tappy. Astoria wore those expensive stilettos just to lounge about the Manor? She was wearing another skirt that exposed most of her perfectly-toned legs. Hermione glanced at her stomach, but the other woman was wearing a long, loose blouse. "Could you please use a more genteel tone, Sassy?" Astoria chided the elf. Sassy just stuck a finger up one nostril and slouched away. Astoria fixed Hermione with a glare. "I hope you're happy. I can't get the elves to do a thing now that you've got them all liberated."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not here on elf-welf."

"I know!" Astoria snapped. She started briskly tippy-tapping away. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with." Her hair was styled into a sleek pony-tail, the ends curled into ringlets.

"Nice weather we-"

"You're not here on a social call."

Hermione wondered if Astoria suspected her relationship with Draco, or if she was just nasty to everyone who wasn't a rich man to bamboozle. She accompanied Hermione all through the Manor, from bottom to top. Hermione found nothing suspicious. As they walked back downstairs, Astoria said, "Too bad about your husband and Gert. I guess he really wanted a baby. Draco's the same way. He can't wait until our baby is born." She placed a hand on her stomach. "Seven months to go. Some women have a career because they can't have children. It's so sad." Her voice didn't sound sad at all; it sounded gleefully malicious.

Hermione's spine stiffened. Astoria knew.

...

Hermione really didn't want to have this particular conversation at 12 Grimmauld Place, but work would have been worse. A public place was out of the question. And Draco's city flat... Well, there wasn't a room in the place where they hadn't had sex. They had even done it in the closet with Hermione's hands bound to the clothes' rod with a silk neck-tie and Draco slapping her bottom with a slipper. No, Draco's flat was entirely out of the question. Too many distracting memories.

There was no expensive lingerie today, no high heels, no subtle perfume. Hermione's sweat pants and baggy tee shirt were armor, of a sort. Her face was bare of make-up, and her hair was pulled up into a bun. She sat at the kitchen table with her hands folded, facing the fireplace, with a roll of parchment in front of her. Kreacher's radio was playing "He's Everywhere" by Sammi Smith. The house elf sat near her feet, playing with a Slinky Hermione had brought home for him. And then there Draco was, stepping out of the fireplace with his usual grin, looking painfully good in blue jeans and a striped pull-over.

Working hard to keep her voice neutral, Hermione said, "We need to talk."

Draco's grin slipped a little, but he started around the table. Hermione knew what would follow: he would free her hair from its bobby-pins and wind his hands in it, put his nose in it and inhale her scent... Closing her eyes, Hermione said, "Please, sit down."

"Are-are you pregnant?"

Hermione's eyes popped back open at smile was completely gone from Draco's face as he took a seat across from Hermione. He looked a bit green, actually. "No. Why would you think that?"

"It seems like everyone else is coming up that way right now." A split second after the words left his lips, he sucked his breath in slightly and frowned. He obviously had not meant to say something so revealing.

"I know your wife is pregnant," Hermione said flatly. "You and I are not going to be seeing each other again."

He tried to revive his grin. "We'll still be working together."

Hermione pushed the parchment toward Draco. He unrolled it and read. Hermione knew its contents by heart:

_Dear Hermione,_

_My proposed 'gifted students' program has been approved by the governors of the school. I know you have a career with the Ministry, but I hope you have considered what we discussed. I think you would be a most excellent professor for the program, and would be an all-around asset for Hogwarts. If you decline, I will certainly understand, but I will be disappointed, nonetheless. _

_Yours,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

"You're going to run away to Hogwarts? Because you're jealous of my wife?" Draco said incredulously as he threw the letter back down on the table.

Yes, Hermione was deeply, irrationally jealous of Astoria. She knew she had no right to be, but she couldn't help it. The thought of that flaw-free body wrapped around the man that she... that she... _That I'm in love with_, she admitted to herself. _Please, please don't let him know it_. Hermione had always thought that girls who got into punching, hair-pulling fights over boys were silly, but she was starting to understand the impulse. But how ridiculous was she? Upset because a man had made love to his own wife. She had no right, no right at all. "You're going to be a father. I'm not going to be a home-wrecker. Please leave now, and don't try to contact me." Hermione lifted her chin and gave him a determined look.

Draco's face changed to an expression that Hermione hadn't seen since her school days. His eyes and mouth narrowed, and his chin lifted. He looked so cold that, for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to call her a mudblood. He stood up slowly, the scraping of his chair too loud in the silence between them. When he spoke, it was in a tone of indifference. "That's fine. I was about to break it off, anyway. It's been a good time, but I'm getting bored with you now. Goodbye, Hermione." A green flash, and he was gone.

Hermione glanced at the clock. Five minutes. It only took her five minutes to break her own heart.

...

Hermione was packing for her move to Hogwarts. In the bedroom, her eye was caught by the bed. The bed they had spent one night together in. Now when Draco and Hermione had their nightmares, they would have no one to wake them up, no one to hold them while their hearts stopped pounding. _Stop it_. She opened her closet, and the first thing she saw was the dancing dress with the fringe. She drew her wand, intending to Vanish it, but then just shoved it aside. It could hang in the closet forever.

Her underwear drawer was full of memories: the satin thong she had repaired after Draco had literally torn it off of her, the suspender belt and stockings, the lavender demi-bra that made her modest bosom look like two perfect peaches. She only took her plain white cotton pieces.

Kreacher, who sat on the bed watching, said, "Walburga is crying."

"Because I'm happy about moving to Hogwarts." The lid of her trunk was latched. She sent it floating down the stairs with a spell. She wiped her eyes, then held out a hand. "Come on, Kreacher. It's time to go."

...

It was easier at Hogwarts. All the memories of Draco that she had there were less than pleasant. There was courtyard where he had snickered while Crabbe and Goyle had attempted (unsuccessfully) to use spells to make her robes fly up. Here was the corridor where Draco had loudly speculated as to how many cockroaches could be nesting in Hermione's hair. And, of course, that spot where she had heard the word 'mudblood' spoken for the first time.

Hermione only had eleven students, but they kept her busy. Each one was a different challenge, from the first-year girl who was a genius but so shy that she couldn't bring herself to speak, to the sixth-year boy who used his brilliant mind to devise entirely new ways to get into trouble. There was no time for her to dwell on her failed marriage and the affair that she had ended.

Sometimes, she cried herself to sleep over the loss of the Weasleys as her second family. She missed them all, from Arthur all the way down to Percy and Audrey's baby girl (she tried to make herself forget about the other baby Weasley, Eugenius Gregory). And Harry, of course, who might as well change his last name to Weasley; she saw him occasionally, but it wasn't the same. Their conversations were awkward. They had to put too much effort into not talking about Ron, Gertie, and their little Gene.

The Hogwarts faculty was a new family for her, now. Minerva was like an older sister, revealing a ribald sense of humor and love of firewhiskey that Hermione would never have guessed at when she was a student; Hermione had told her about her relationship with Draco one tipsy evening at the Three Broomsticks, and Minerva had in turn told of her own misadventure with a married man back in the 1960s. Hagrid-she would never get used to calling him Rubeus-was, though he was much older, like a younger brother. Sybill Trelawny was a dotty maiden aunt, and Flitwick, surprisingly, was a father-like figure in her life now.

"How are you feeling today, Hermione?" Minerva asked her as she took her seat at the table at the front of the Great Hall. "I didn't give you too many Irish coffees last night, did I?"

"No, I'm fine," Hermione replied, smiling weakly. Minerva had been the one to inform her the evening before that Kreacher had passed away, having gone peacefully as he napped on a table in the kitchens. The fierce grief that had seized Hermione at the news had been a shock. Somehow, his death made all the recent changes and upheavals in her life seem more final. Minerva was not the sort to hug; her idea of comfort was adding whiskey to coffee.

Hermione noticed a couple of newspapers tucked under Minerva's plate this morning. "May I read the _Prophet_?"

An odd look passed over the Headmistress' face. "You should read both papers, but in private."

Hermione mulled that over as she forked scrambled eggs into her mouth. She could guess what was in the _Daily Prophet_. But what about the second paper?

She rushed through breakfast and took the papers back to her room. When she clicked her wireless on, it started playing 'Always Wanting You' by Merle Haggard; of course, with Kreacher... gone, she no longer had to listen to the country-western station, but she lacked the will to change it at the moment. She sat down in her rocking chair, knees a bit wobbly.

Opening up the_ Prophet_, she flipped to the birth announcements section. Her breath was knocked from her lungs by the photograph. Draco stood next to an armchair, beaming as he held a tiny little bundle in his arms; he carefully turned the baby to the camera, pushing the swaddling blanket away from the little squashed-looking face, then pulled it back to his chest protectively. Draco looked so good, it hurt. Astoria just sat in the chair, a maddeningly smug expression on her face. _Scorpius Malfoy, seven pounds, two ounces_. Hermione wondered if, in eleven years, she would be Scorpius' teacher. If he inherited his father's brains...

The second paper was the latest edition of _Skeeter's Bites_. Hermione dropped it as if it had stung her. The tabloid came apart as it fell, spreading across the floor. There was Draco again, scowling, mouthing swear words as he raised his hand and tried to hide his face from the camera. The woman beside him looked a bit confused, but she didn't loosen the grip she had on Draco's arm. "Malfoy Misbehaves!" the headline screamed; "Astoria Absconds to America With Baby!".

_Merlin_. Hermione looked back at the photo of Draco with his son and felt sick to her stomach. Astoria took the baby to _another continent_. It had to be sheer meanness that made her do it; it seemed obvious that Draco cared more about the baby than Astoria did. For one wild moment, Hermione wanted to leave Hogwarts, abandon her work, and comfort Draco. But, no, he had someone new. It wasn't her place.

_How long was it between when I broke up with him and when he took up with her? Did he already have her waiting in the wings when he was with me_? She couldn't stop herself from wondering, although it was stupid and pointless. He had never been hers. She studied the woman critically. _Is she prettier than I? She doesn't look very smart, and her face is a bit coarse. But she has a big bosom, and men seem to like that_. The longer Hermione stared at the photograph, the crazier she felt. With a flick of her wand, she reduced the tabloid to ash.

For a moment, Hermione considered keeping the picture of Draco with his son; she could just cut Astoria out. But she knew that she would look at it too much, and that the sight of that beautiful expression of happiness on his face would just break her heart over and over again. The _Prophet_ was also immolated.

Hermione took a deep breath, and another and another. She dried her eyes with sheer willpower. She stood up, straightened her spine, and became Professor Granger. In five minutes, she would be teaching eleven brilliant, challenging minds. When she was done, she would bury Kreacher. And then she would see if Minerva was up for a pub-crawl. If ever there was a day to attain an Obliviate-level of drunkenness, this was it.

TWO YEARS LATER

"Professor Granger! Professor Granger!" The girl hit her in the stomach with a surprise hug, and Hermione let out an oof.

"How are you, Gillian? Have you had a good summer?"

Gillian burbled happily, launching into a long story about her family's visit to New Zealand. As she listened, Hermione's smile was genuine; two years ago, Gillian did not speak to anyone. Hermione knew she couldn't take full credit for the change, but she knew she was partly responsible. It was the sort of thing that made her realize that teaching was what she wanted to do for the rest of her working life.

The school year was about to start, and Hermione was in Flourish and Blotts buying some books for her classroom. _Advanced Transfiguration Illustrated _for a boy who was highly intelligent, but not very good at reading. _An Arithmancy Fairy Tale _for the more day-dreamy girls, which used the tale of a handsome prince and a beautiful damsel to teach the elements of Gematria. She threw in a couple of historical novels, and, after hugging Gillian goodbye, she paid for her purchases.

It was a hot day, and Hermione felt over-heated even in her summer dress and sandals. Fortescue's wasn't far away, and they would still be making their special double-fudge ice cream. Her behind didn't need the calories, Merlin knew, but she could almost taste it already. She would get a bowl and sit on one of the little white-painted wrought-iron stools and watch the people go by on this busy day in Diagon Alley and-

Her stomach dropped. Sitting at one of the tables outside of Fortescue's was Draco Malfoy, dressed for the weather in linen trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt. He was spooning strawberry ice cream into the mouth of a wispy-haired little boy as a middle-aged woman in a starched uniform looked on. Melted pink goo dripped down Scorpius' chin. "You're getting him all dirty and sticky," the nanny clucked.

"He's a little boy. He's supposed to be dirty and sticky," Draco argued as he dabbed at Scorpius' chin with a napkin. Scorpius scrunched his face up. The nanny heaved a sigh.

_If this scene was any more adorable_, Hermione thought, _women would be getting spontaneously pregnant from it_. She wanted to stay and watch, but she recalled the cold look that Draco had given her when she had broken it off with him; she did not want to see it directed at her again. _Get going, Hermione_. Then Draco chucked his son under his chin, making him giggle, and Hermione could not look away from the expression of fatherly affection on that face.

Hermione wasn't sure if she had made a noise or not. Draco looked up, and the instant he saw her, he grinned with genuine delight. "Hey," he said, in a voice that was a bit unsure.

"Hey." Hermione found herself grinning back.

Draco pushed a chair away from the table with one foot. "Sit." The nanny raised an eyebrow as she took in the way the two were gazing at one another.

Taking the chair, Hermione smiled at little Scorpius. His face was too baby-chubby to tell if he had the sharp Malfoy chin, but those gray eyes were all Draco. He looked at her curiously for a few seconds, then whined for more ice cream. "He's beautiful," Hermione said.

"Yeah. Best thing I ever did," Draco replied as he picked up the spoon again.

"Is... his mother back here now?"

"No." A line appeared between Draco's eyebrows. "She found some rich old American to marry, but he didn't want, as he put it, someone else's brat around. I have full custody now. Astoria doesn't even want to visit him now."

"_How could she be so horrible_?" Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth. That was less than diplomatic.

Draco laughed. "Trust me, my mother has said far worse."

Hermione looked down at the cloth that covered the table, picking at a loose thread. "And your father?"

"He's not happy with her, either, though he's far angrier with me. You read about the divorce settlement in_ Skeeter's Bites _just like everyone else, I imagine."

"I knew about the pre-nup before. Your father told me the night he told me Astoria was pregnant."

Draco was silent for a few minutes as he used cleaning charms on his son. "Of course he did. He's spent so many years dealing with gold-digging women that he's gotten a bit... unhinged about it."

"It was sad, really. Is that why he sleeps around so much? Because he can't believe a woman could really love him for himself? It is, isn't it?"

"I have trouble believing it myself, I'm afraid. I don't know if I'll ever marry again."

"The woman you were with in that picture in _Skeeter's Bites_, are you still with her?" Hermione could have kicked herself for asking. It was an all-too-transparent transparent ploy to find out if he was available.

"She dropped me when she finally realized I was never going to propose to her." Draco picked Scorpius up and handed him to the nanny. "Take him home, Margot. I'd like to spend some time with an old friend." Draco sat back down and took one of Hermione's hands and waited for the nanny to leave. He turned Hermione's face toward him with his other hand and smiled playfully. "Do you think that you might... want some companionship, perhaps? Someone exceedingly good-looking and witty with whom you have excellent sexual chemistry?" He ran his fingers up Hermione's wrist to the inside of her elbow. The touch raised goose-bumps. "During the week, you can be a buttoned-up professor, and then on the weekends-" He raised her hand to his mouth; when he kissed it, he parted his lips and touched her skin with just the tip of his tongue; the contact shot a spark straight up Hermione's arm and down to her nethers.

Hermione suddenly felt like she wasn't getting enough air. "Only every other weekend, I'm afraid. I need to take my turn at supervising the students on days without classes." She was very aware of her body, of how bare the halter-style dress left her back, and how, if the halter-neck was untied, the dress would just fall off, leaving her in her sandals and her bikini-style knickers.

"But then there's Christmas, and Easter, and summer." His voice was low and silky, his eyes wandering to the shadow of cleavage at the top of her bodice.

"That's some long-term thinking there, don't you think?" Hermione could hear the doubt in her voice.

"What I said to you before I left-I didn't mean it. You were running away from me, and I just felt a need to hurt you back." He folded her hand between both of his. "Let's give it a try, at least."

Hermione wasn't sure if she would ever fully trust a man any more. But the way Draco was looking at her, the way he was speaking, the way the warmth of his hands made the late-summer day feel even hotter... She wanted to try. Those two years and a half of celibacy had been necessary for her to heal, and to find her own place in the world. Now she was ready to to share the life she had made for herself.

And so she found herself in the Leaky Cauldron, avoiding Neville Longbottom's inquiring eyes as Draco rented them a room; perhaps they could have chosen a place that wasn't co-owned by a former classmate. But they didn't have the patience to look elsewhere, not after going without one another for so long.

The moment he opened the door, Draco flicked his wand at the wireless, turning it up. A deejay with a Yorkshire accent tried unsuccessfully to sound Texan: "Next up, 'Together Again' by Buck Owens." They didn't even make it to the bed. Draco swung her around and shoved her up against the door, reaching up her dress and ripping off her underpants. Hermione had been wet since the moment he had taken her hand; she fumbled at the zip of his trousers and guided him inside her, moaning loudly as he thrust hard enough to rattle the door in its hinges. "Even better than I remembered," he breathed in her ear, just before she climaxed. It was, it was.

They leaned on each other, panting and laughing softly. Draco's trousers were tangled around his knees, and they both nearly fell over as they tried to move to the bed. They collapsed onto the threadbare quilt and helped each other undress, then spent an hour just touching and exploring and refamiliarizing themselves with each others' bodies.

"I have something to confess," Draco said as he gave Hermione a foot rub.

"Hmm." The things he was doing to her feet were making her feel as languorous as a cat.

"I received a letter from Hogwarts about a month ago."

"You're a bit old to be a student."

"Apparently, the potions master has been called away by a family emergency."

Hermione's eyes popped open. "You mean-"

"Professor Malfoy. If I accept. I haven't yet because I didn't know how you would feel about it. I thought you might not want to see my face at breakfast every day." Draco did a move that Hermione loved, putting both hands on one foot and twisting gently. "Should I accept?"

"And Scorpius?"

"Will come with. Margot is portable. What do you think?"

Hermione laughed. "You are_ mad_. We've only just gotten back together."

"So we_ are _together, then?"

"You don't want to marry, but you want to just jump right back into a relationship with me."

Draco dropped her foot. He moved up on the bed and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. "You're the only one that ever understood about the nightmares." With a wicked look, he added, "And I love your arse. Tell me, should I do it? Should I go to Hogwarts?"

"All those seventh-year girls ogling you. I _will _be jealous."

"Good. That means you really care." Draco put his mouth on her stomach and blew a loud raspberry.

Hermione found herself giggling like a teenager. Merlin, he could be ridiculous. And she loved it. "Do it," she said.


End file.
